Mine, Thine, Ours
by Maple Fay
Summary: A new approach to "Yessir, That's Our Baby". H/M -- honestly, what DID you expect of me? The title is a paraphrase from a love letter Carrie and Mr. Big enjoyed in "Sex and the City - the Movie".
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** So… A couple of weeks ago I watched "Yessir, that's our baby" for the first time, and fell completely in love with the way Hawkeye and Margaret were all over the little thing. The ending of that episode was so sad I simply had to try and have a go with it—the first part of which I'm hereby giving you. I do intend to work on my other story, and hopefully one won't stand in the way of the other. Please give it a minute, and enjoy your reading!

Maple Fay

0o0o0o0o0o

"She does look a little like you. And you are doing a wonderful job taking care of her," said the woman, bending over the man's shoulder to gently caress the smooth cheek of the child he's been holding in his arms. The man looked up incredulously and crooked a brow on her.

"Did you just tell me a compliment?"

She made a face at him and sat on the bench, resting her chest against his arm as she continued to stroke the baby's hair. "I did it only for her sake."

"Yeah, right," he grunted, though inwardly he had to stop himself from bouncing happily around. Margaret actually thought he was good father material! What could he possibly want more?

The list of such 'wants' was long and complicated, with many items crossed-out and re-written again in heavier script. It was better not to pursue the answer right now.

"Any news?" Margaret's voice was soft and trembled slightly as she gestured towards Potter's darkened office. Hawkeye sighed and shook his head.

"He still ain't back from the HQ. And I'm sure you already know what they'd have told him."

Margaret nodded warily and dropped her arm, brushing his knee in the process. "'Blood relatives only'?"

"Probably, yes."

"But she doesn't have any, none that we know of! How could we give her away, anyway? She's become much too important for everybody in the camp to simply surrender her to some orphanage, or a monastery!"

"I know, I know," he patted her knee with his free hand, trying to offer some comfort. "We've been everywhere, knocked on every door. It's no use fighting with those guys. Here, hold the angel for me," he carefully deposited the child in Margaret's willing arms and stood up, stretching, before walking over to the coffee machine. "Want some?"

"Yes, please," she answered quietly, her eyes fixed upon the baby in the cradle of her arms. "I still can't think how we could possibly… There _has_ to be a way!"

He looked down at her, eyes watery, hair in disarray, holding onto the child as if the little girl was her anchor, and looking out to _him_ for answers. He gave her a sad smile and placed a coffee cup on the table within her reach.

"We'll think of something," he assured her, keeping his eyes fixed on the sleeping baby's peaceful face. "Damn those GIs for leaving their girls behind! If _I_ had a baby coming—" he paused, suddenly overwhelmed by an idea that planted itself firmly in his brain and refused to move, no matter how hard he mentally kicked himself. Margaret watched his inner struggle with a frown.

"Are you alright?" she asked eventually, standing up and coming closer to him, the baby girl never as much as twitching in her embrace. Hawkeye took in the sight before him—a woman, tired, yet still astonishingly beautiful, for whom he had cared for a long time now, holding a baby with motherly affection, and giving him a considerate look that made him melt like an ice-cream in August sun.

That was positively the most wonderful thing he'd ever witnessed—and something he couldn't as much as hope for having.

Well, if he couldn't have _all_ of this, he'd at least have one half.

"I'm okay," he answered and beamed at her, gently tugging the blanket around the child's chest. "And I think I have an idea…"

0o0o0o0o0o

"Pierce, are you _serious_?"

"Never been more serious in my life, Colonel. After all, she's been left at the Swamp door, and I'm its oldest resident. I've been here longer than any other man except for Klinger, to whom she bears no resemblance, and my reputation is… well…"

"I get it," Potter interrupted, raising a hand to stop further explanations. "Objectively speaking, this plan might actually work… but are you sure this is what you really want? An obligation like this lasts for a lifetime."

"I am aware of the fact, Colonel, and I have no inclinations to change my mind. I would like to officially claim fatherhood of this girl."

0o0o0o0o0o

"He did _what_?"

"Went to Potter and said he'd claim being the girl's father in order to adopt her."

Margaret gaped at BJ with her fork stopped half-way between her plate and her mouth. "_Is he_ the father?"

BJ shrugged. "When I asked him that, he told me it was as relevant as it was possible—so he probably isn't. But he _did_ say he'd like to be, and this seemed like an easy way to get a wonderful child, and to do some good in the process."

The blonde Major quietened, her fork still unmoving, seemingly lost in thoughts. BJ stole a couple of glances at her, wondering what the primary source of her thoughtfulness was: the very fact of somebody claiming to be the father in order to save the girl from a terrible fate, or the identity of the man thus doing.

BJ Hunnicutt was a sharp-witted man. He knew when something was cooking, and the way his best friend and the Head Nurse had been circling around each other for quite a while gave him an impression of there being quite a piece of pie in the proverbial oven. He found the fact that both of them were completely unaware of the tension between them highly amusing, at least until the baby girl found her way into the 4077th. Since she appeared in their lives, Hawkeye kind of took hold of her, and the only person he'd allow to come close and share some intimacy with the child was Margaret. Of course, the two would argue fiercely about the way the child should be taken care of, and other details of quasi-parenthood, but when they stood close to one another and either tended to the baby or spoke to somebody about her, they looked exactly like BJ and Peg must have looked a mere year before—like a happy couple presenting their firstborn.

He wondered how long it would take them to realize that—and Hawkeye's newest scheme was bound to quicken the process. Of course, BJ would never have taken the chance and tried talking to either of his friends (he wasn't all too eager to risk losing his front teeth), but he _would_ be quite content to see them together for once.

"Where's he now?" Margaret's question broke his train of thoughts. "Has he talked to the Army yet?"

"I think he's off to HQ right now," BJ answered, jabbing a seemingly inanimate lump of food with his fork. "He should be back in an hour."

"I see." The frown on Margaret's forehead was a visible sign of a highly complicated thinking process taking place in the woman's lovely head, and BJ could bet he knew exactly what it was all about.

After another moment of tensed, dull silence, they were interrupted by a bright flash of light coming from the front lamps of a jeep pulling into the compound. Margaret jumped to her feet and ran outside, clutching on to Hawkeye's jacket even before he as much as had a chance to get off the vehicle.

"Well? What did they tell you?"

He gave her a long, tired look, and walked away towards Potter's office, not bothering to answer her question. Perplexed, Margaret ran after him, feeling a nasty weight pushing down on her lungs, leaving her completely out of breath.

"Pierce! Wait up!"

Still no recognition of her presence. The Major rushed in to the office on Hawkeye's heels, desperate to hear about the results of his peculiar mission. She came just in time to see Potter stand up from his chair and give the Chief Surgeon a hopeful, expectant look.

"Any good news?"

"Partially." Hawkeye sat heavily down on a desk by the wall, and loosened his tie. "Nobody questioned my statement; they even congratulated me for making a noble decision—and so I am now a proud father of one Kimberly Pierce. But they still won't let me take her to the States with me."

"_What_?!" Potter's face color came dangerously close to purple. "Whyever not?"

"They think I'm inept to raise a baby, being a single parent." Hawkeye's voice was full of venom and hurt. "They told me that 'overcoming prejudice and racial issues that would inevitably arise around my daughter would be far too difficult for one person'—so they'd advise me to leave her in an orphanage in Korea for a couple of years rather than take her to the States right away."

"Pack of old fools," Potter grumbled, resting his chin on his fist. "What are you planning to do?"

Hawkeye shrugged, apparently nonplussed. "Since I can't hope for some girl falling madly in love with me and agreeing to marry me in the next couple of days, I would have to do what they said—leave Kim in Korea until she's about five, maybe seven, then send for her. _If_ she's still alive by that time," he finished, groaning, and accepted a glass of bourbon Margaret thoughtfully poured for him. "Thanks, Major, you're a real sweetheart." He washed the contents of the glass down his throat in one shot, winced from the power of the drink and stood up, pocketing his tie. "I shall be going. I want to get some sleep before the reality and its senselessness kicks in. Goodnight."

They both watched him go, crushed, all chances for providing a happy home to the child he came to love gone. The Colonel stood up, leaning his bodyweight on his arms, and turned off the desk lamp, motioning Margaret to follow him outside.

"I don't know what else we could possibly do about it," he murmured more to himself than to the Head Nurse, which was a good thing, for she didn't really hear him, lost in her own thoughts.

"Now, _I_ have an idea," she whispered, and rushed through the compound towards her tent with a look of determination written upon her face.

0o0o0o0o0o

"Hawkeye? Hawkeye, are you asleep?"

"I apparently am. Go away, Margaret."

"Wake up, you fool! I need to ask you a question."

He opened his eyes reluctantly and blinked in amazement. It _was_ Margaret, it had to be, but she looked quite… different. Her hair was combed and pinned up the way he liked it most, she had put a touch of lipstick on and wore that pale blue blouse he enjoyed imagining taking off her every once in a while. Her cheeks were flushed, and she was sitting on the edge of his bunk with a solemn facial expression and straightened back.

Suppressing a yawn, Hawkeye sat up, and combed his hair with one hand. "What can I do for you, Major?"

She bit her lower lip, which made her look absolutely gorgeous, and raised her beautiful eyes to meet his. "Say, Hawkeye… would you like to get married?"

He chuckled and massaged his stubbled chin with one hand. "I sure would, one day… The sooner, the better, considering I'm a single parent."

She winced impatiently and shook her head. "That's not what I meant."

Taking in a deep breath, like a diver about to jump off the boat, she cleared her throat before she continued.

"I meant—would you like to get married—to me?"

**TBC…**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Thank you so much for all the reviews! I am glad you approve of my vision of things, and I hope this chapter makes you smile a little…

My thoughts go to Bev (hope you're no longer sick!) and everyone else who provided me with feedback and help on both of my stories. I love you all!

0o0o0o0o0o

Colonel Sherman T. Potter groaned quietly and massaged the bridge of his nose. "Is this week going to get any weirder? For if it is, tell everybody I've gone fishing. Be back next decade."

"But sir," Margaret protested fiercely, "this is a serious matter!"

"Major Houlihan, are you going to tell me you'd fallen head over feet in love with Pierce, overnight, if I may add?"

The blonde bit her lip. "No, sir. That would be a lie."

"Then why the heck do you want my permission to marry the man?! Haven't you had enough of bad relationships?" He stood up and circled the desk to stand in front of her and take hold of her trembling hands. "I would like you to be happy, Margaret, not to sacrifice yourself for some noble cause."

The Major sighed and gave her CO a brave smile. "I know, Colonel, and I do appreciate your concern—but I _know_ what I'm about to do, and I'm well prepared to do it. We have it all figured out. It's going to be a white marriage, of course, but we respect each other well enough to create a healthy relationship and bring up a baby. I won't have to resign from my commission. Hawkeye would have his daughter. The Army would have to let us send her back to his father's place, where she would be loved and taken care of. I'd say this was a perfect plan, if you didn't mind my boldness on the matter, sir."

Potter gave her a long, considerate look. He did care about the girl—though we would never refer to her as a 'girl'; he was as fond of his teeth as BJ—and although his best wishes were with the child recently named Kimberly Pierce, he wasn't sure whether the marriage between the Major and the girl's surrogate father would be the best possible solution.

On the other hand, he knew better than to oppose her when she was this determined—and though he had seen her focused on something, even desperate, before, this was the first time her eyes really begged him for consent.

"Alright, have it your way," he said with a small sigh. "You can talk to Father Mulcahy, and get married as soon as he is able to perform the ceremony."

"Thank you, sir," she beamed at him, visibly relieved, and shook his hand. "Thank you so much."

"Margaret… make sure he doesn't hurt you in any way, would you?"

"I know he won't," she told him, confidently, and left his office, half-running across the compound, feeling genuinely happy for the first time in weeks.

0o0o0o0o0o

After having a serious conversation with Father Mulcahy, dropping over at Klinger's to check on Kim, and grabbing a cup of tea, Margaret was no longer _that _sure and confident. Hawkeye had a shift in post-op, and she didn't want to interrupt him, so she simply sat down on a bench outside and pulled up her knees, gazing off dreamily into space and remembering the previous evening.

She took a great deal of time to fix her looks the way she knew he'd like, before she finally gathered up her courage and walked over to the Swamp. Her heart was pounding fast and strong in her chest, her lips were dry—why the _heck_ was she so nervous? It wasn't a _real_ proposal after all, more of a business deal. And she wasn't actually _attracted_ to Hawkeye, was she?

On the other hand, why did she feel so disappointed when all he said, after gawping at her for a long while, was: "Huh?"

She had rolled her eyes then, and explained slowly, "This isn't about you, it's about little Kim and her future. You need a wife right about now, which is why the best possible solution is that I marry you, so that Kim could be sent over to live with your father until the end of the war. It's an excellent idea."

"I still don't understand," he said in a reserved, cool tone, "what's in it for you?"

She blinked at him and snorted, as if he was a child to whom she had to explain the simplest thing. "I'll have a _baby_, what else could there possibly be in it! I'll have this wonderful, beautiful daughter, and I won't have to resign my commission. It's a perfect plan! One day, when I'm ready to have my own family, I'll probably call the whole thing off, but as of now it might be an answer to all my problems."

Hawkeye scratched his chin, obviously stunned by her sudden proposal, and gave her a shy (shy?!) glance. "Are you sure about it?"

"Of _course_ I am!"

"You won't despise me for… restraining you?"

Margaret rolled her eyes, the anxiety in her body reaching top levels. "Hawkeye, all we're talking about is an arranged _white marriage_, and not one imposed upon me! People do things like that all the time, for whatever reasons—and _we_ have a very good one, if I my remind you. This is my choice, and I'm ready to take the responsibility for it. Do you really want to help that child, or will you just chicken out?"

His eyes seemed to harden, and he shook his head. "She means too much to me." A long, pointed look. "Alright, Miss Houlihan, I will marry you."

That was when she felt it—both the relief and a painful sting deep in her heart, realizing he probably was _forcing_ himself to do it, that he wasn't attracted to her in the very least. The sensation was alien, cold, leaving her empty and yearning for something to fill the void that has suddenly been planted around her heart.

Margaret groaned at the memory and banged her head against the wood. Since when did it matter what Hawkeye thought, and more important—how he _felt_ about her? This was a business transaction, a win-win cause, not a romance! Hadn't she decided long ago that men weren't worth all the fuss made around them? All her relationships until now had been nothing more than catastrophes, and why? Because she was far too _emotional_ about them! The way she threw herself at Frank, Donald, Scully, whoever came handy—it gave her shivers every time she thought about it. What she needed was logic. Something simple and clean, with boundaries and rules, drawn by cool consideration, not by irrational emotions.

She hoped that her second marriage would be like that. After all, although she and Hawkeye _liked_ each other a lot, they'd never expressed any intentions for a romantic relationship… that is, if you chose to ignore that one night in the old shack behind enemy lines, and some kisses, and constant teasing, and the way his eyes would lighten up every time she wore something new… But even _if_ there had been _some_ attraction between them in the past, it was most definitely _not there_ anymore, judging from the way he reacted to her words the other night. So yes, a logical, well-balanced relationship they would have. A child to spoil rotten by both of them even after the inevitable divorce some time in the future, an ersatz of a family.

Until something better came along.

The thought made Margaret shivered uncontrollably, which she chose to ignore, pulling her knees even closer to her chest.

Next thing she knew, somebody was putting a jacket around her shoulders.

"Are you cold? Why are you sitting here, brooding?" Hawkeye's voice sounded behind her, as his hands tugged the hems of the clothing around her body. She raised her head to look at him—he looked tired, but there was a warm light in his eyes that made her smile.

"I was waiting for you," she responded, moving on the bench to make like some space. "I talked to Father Mulcahy."

"And? Did he want to excommunicate us for getting married without such necessities as, let's say, love?" The bitterness in his voice stood in opposition to the gentleness of his face, but there was no time to ponder on it.

"As a matter of fact, he said we were doing a noble thing, and that he would be quite happy to marry us," she said somewhat stiffly, avoiding his eyes in confusion. "He could perform the ceremony tomorrow, if you have a ring to give me."

"I have a ring, but I'm not sure it's what you'd want," Hawkeye said calmly and reached to his dog-tags, separating one item from the chain. He gave it to her on his opened palm to examine: a simple band of gold, with the smallest ruby encased in a flower-shaped base.

"It's beautiful," she said, smiling, and fingered it with attention, pads of her fingers slipping onto Hawkeye's palm from time to time. "Your mother's?"

"No," he answered softly, "just something I've had for a while."

Margaret lowered her eyes, slightly disappointed that her wedding ring would be something bought with an intention of giving it to another woman, but since the whole thing wasn't exactly a standard fall-in-love-and-get-married procedure, she figured she would have to deal with it.

"It's very nice," she repeated, and moved her hand away from Hawkeye's. "You sure you don't mind giving it to me?"

He gave her a long, thoughtful look before shaking his head. "I don't mind."

"Thank you," she said, standing up and rubbing her (suddenly sweaty) hands against her thighs. "What time would you like to get married?"

He probably thought the very same thing she did: that it sounded more like scheduling an appointment with the dentist than arranging a wedding. Flickers of laughter shone in his eyes, and he smiled at her, getting up and reaching for her hands.

"How about noon? We can invite everyone to a not-so-special wedding lunch at the mess tent afterwards."

"Sounds nice. What are you going to wear?"

"That bruised and battered tux of mine. Yourself?"

"I was thinking my Class A's… but I think I'll wear a dress."

"Highly approved by the groom," he joked, rubbing his thumbs against her skin. "Father Mulcahy's tent?"

"The Father, us, BJ, and Colonel Potter?"

"Perfect company."

"People are going to talk, though, seeing us dressed up like that."

Hawkeye shrugged and released her hands. "I don't really care about people talking. Come on, I'll buy you a drink—it's a little uncommon for the newlyweds-to-be to spend their last night of freedom together, but hey, we're not exactly 'common' types, are we?"

"We most certainly aren't," she agreed and followed him to the O'Club, a small, unconscious smile lingering on her lips.

0o0o0o0o0o

She was beautiful.

The dress she wore was pale blue, like the robe that used to make him crazy whenever he caught a glimpse of her wearing it, and clung to her body in all the right places. Her make up, her hair, a small nervous smile—everything about her was perfect.

He ached to touch her, hold her, kiss her like a real groom would do with his bride, but he couldn't. She made it crystal clear: it was all business to her, and that gave him no right to impose his feelings on her. It was quite a challenge, to keep his feelings off his face (and some of it was probably escaping through his eyes this very moment), but he was willing to take it if it meant she'd stay with him.

As his wife.

This really _was_ happening, he thought, watching Potter, BJ and Father Mulcahy croon over Margaret's appearance. He was _marrying_ Margaret Houlihan, the woman for whom he'd bought that stupid little ring quite a while ago, knowing all too well she deserved a diamond as big as her heart. He never intended to actually give her the ring, just enjoyed the feeling of keeping it next to his heart, tangled with his dog-tags—only that now it was about to happen, she'd be his to have, even if you could never as much as touch her the way he wanted to.

She looked up at him, and he saw her eyes were laughing; there was no hesitation, no doubt. She trusted him to make things good for them, for little Kim.

He would not disappoint her.

0o0o0o0o0o

"You may kiss the bride… if you want, and she won't oppose, that is," Margaret heard Father Mulcahy say and turned to Hawkeye with a questioningly crooked brow. He smiled at her, taking hold of her arms and lowering his lips to hers, a gentle touch, hardly any pressure in it. She kissed him back, equally gently, and stepped back, lowering her head, afraid that he might see the longing in her eyes, read from the flush of pink covering her face that she wanted much, much more than just this.

_I cannot impose anything on him_, she thought, and gave the assembled group a happy smile, not realizing she was still holding Hawkeye's hand.

"Gentlemen, I give you Mr. and Mrs. Pierce," Mulcahy chuckled from behind them, and the tent exploded with congratulations.

They never let go of each other's hands.

**TBC…**

0o0o0o0o0o

**A/N:** Loved it? Hated it? Tell me all about it!


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Hi all! Thank you for the reviews, I'm really glad to hear you like the story ;) Let's see what you say about today's update…

As always, feedback is love.

0o0o0o0o0o

"Hush little baby, don't say a word, mommy's gonna buy you a mocking bird..."

"And if that mocking bird don't sing—"

Margaret suppressed a scream with a great effort of will, spun on her heel and gave Hawkeye an icy glare.

"Has no one ever told you about this thing called _knocking_?" she hissed, desperate not to wake Kim: she only just managed to lull her into sleep, after a tiresome day full of colic. Her husband (it still seemed bizarre to think of him that way) gave her an innocent smile from where he stood, leaning against the doorframe.

"They did, but I figured it was too much of a nuisance. I came to ask if you wanted me to take Kim over to the Swamp for the night."

Margaret raised a brow, watching Hawkeye leaning over his daughter—_their_ daughter, which was yet another bizarre expression, come to think of it—and stroking her hair with the back of his hand. "Why would I want that?" she whispered, coming closer to him. He motioned her towards her cot and sat down on an empty box at its feet.

"Margaret, you had a night shift yesterday, and then you took care of Kim because I've been operating the whole day. You should rest."

She rolled her eyes. "Be advised it's unwise to patronize me, even if you happen to be my husband."

"Sorry. I thought that was something husbands do," he answered, looking at her with a playful spark in his eye. Margaret groaned and shook her head, even though she wasn't really angry. She felt… surprised. Up till now Hawkeye had been a prefect gentleman, never as much as bringing up their so-called marriage. He was around his wife and daughter more often, obviously, helping with Kim if Margaret was too busy to do so, or simply taking the child over to the Swamp for a day or two whenever they both felt like it. Margaret paid him a couple of unannounced visits and was happy to notice the interior of surgeons' tent had become far more tidy and clean since the baby started to spend more time there. BJ was always helpful and friendly towards the Major, more than he had been before the wedding—Margaret supposed it had something to do with her helping out his crazy friend—and Charles was just Charles, which was pretty obvious, given the fact that he didn't know about their… agreement.

They didn't announce it publicly, not yet, though it's been six weeks since they got married, and their updated papers and dog-tags had already arrived from the HQ. Margaret attached her wedding ring to her set, not daring to wear it openly, and the case was dismissed from everyday conversations—she and Hawkeye never as much as mentioned their union between themselves. Margaret tried to do it, once, right after the ceremony: she asked Hawkeye whether he would like to have a private dinner with her, say, once a week, to discuss Kim's possible future and get to know each other better. There was also the underlying factor of her simply wanting to spend more time with him, which seemed completely irrelevant to him, for he told her, politely, but firmly, that they would do such thing. She tried to question him, find some reasons for his behavior, but he refused to talk about it. There were no answers given.

And so, they didn't have dinner, not once.

Nothing changed, except for the part of their lives they were now sharing because of Kim.

It was as if they weren't married at all. And, surprisingly, it hurt more than Margaret supposed it would.

Which was why Hawkeye's sudden attention and caring about her well-being caught her completely off-guard. She tried to joke her way out of the conversation, to no avail. The warm, peculiar gaze was still there, which made her feel… awkward, at the very least.

"Honestly, Hawkeye, I'm fine," she told him, firmly, and stood up. "Though I wouldn't mind some quiet time _alone_."

"I shall leave you to your feminine activities, then," he said with a playful smile, and stood up, too, facing her, suddenly reducing the distance between them to mere inches. "Goodnight, Margaret."

"Goodnight," she whispered, petrified, and literally jumped when his lips touched her cheek in a gentle kiss, before he took three long steps and walked out of the tent. Margaret raised a hand to her face and brushed a slightly moist spot, not quite sure whether the whole scene hasn't been but a trick of her imagination. Sighing, she took off her robe and slipped under the blanket, curling on her left side and falling asleep in an instant, despite the nasty buzz in her head.

0o0o0o0o0o

She shook him violently, making his head swim, dark spots flying in front of his eyes from lack of sleep, fatigue, and stress. Blinking quickly, he stood up shakily, not quite registering her agitated words, pulled on his boots and followed her outside, accepting a robe from her outstretched hand in the process.

Cool night air woke him up a little, so by the time they reached her tent he was already alert, focusing on his daughter, _their_ daughter, crying desperately and burning up in her makeshift crib.

"How long?" he asked, not wasting any unnecessary words, his skilled hands already running over her skin.

"I don't know," Margaret answered in a shaky voice, leaning over the other side of the crib. "Her cries woke me up a moment ago, I was sleeping like a log… I'm so sorry, Hawkeye, I should have—"

"We have no time for this now," he snapped, and picked the baby up in one smooth motion. "I'm taking her to post-op. Go wake up Potter."

She ran, as fast as she could, cursing her stupid pride that made her insist on taking care of Kim, even though she knew she was in fact drop-dead tired, and end up with a feverish child for whom she is but a foster parent. Of course, Hawkeye wasn't _really_ her father, too, but if they were to compare their feelings towards Kim—was it even comparable, on this stage? Margaret shook the swarm of chaotic thoughts away, banging her fist against Potter's doors, telling him in a high-pitched voice the child was burning up… moments later, running on his heels towards the post-op.

The Colonel opened the door with a loud crack, and pushed Hawkeye away from the little girl, still crying on top of her lungs. "Damn it, Pierce, what _the hell_ were you thinking?!"

Margaret winced with her head hung down, her body shivering from cold sweat, waiting for her husband to admit it wasn't his fault, but _hers_—but as the words didn't come, she looked up to see him (brow furrowed, biting on his lower lip) standing politely away from the table on which Potter was examining Kim, not even trying to speak in his own sake.

It was too much. He was just too good to her. Margaret clasped her hands over her mouth to muffle a whimper, but it didn't go unnoticed.

"Take your wife out of here, Pierce," Potter snapped, still leaning over Kim, his old, skillful hands probing the child's abdomen. Margaret was vaguely aware of Kellye's shocked gaze and some gasps on the side of night-shift nurses, but couldn't find any strength to protest as Hawkeye's arm wrapped around her shoulders, warm, heavy, and protective.

He walked her outside, to the same bench on which they sat when he showed her the ring, and took her hands in one of his, the other stroking her hair, and incidentally running across her cheek. "It's alright now," he whispered, and pulled her close, seeing the way her lips quivered uncontrollably. She clung to his robe-clad chest and sobbed, fisting the material, forcing him to hold her even tighter, her head in the crook of his neck, tears moistening the skin over his clavicle. She felt awful, she was a bad person, selfish, arrogant and stubborn, the worst mother imaginable—and still, he was here, with her, holding and comforting her as if she was _the_ most important person in the world…

"Stop winding yourself up," he spoke against her hair, and for a moment she thought that she felt him plant the smallest of kisses there. "It wasn't your fault, Margaret. You were tired, you fell asleep, you didn't hear her until she cried. It could happen to anybody, me or you, doesn't matter. Stop accusing yourself."

She raised her head, looking at him with puffy eyes, and bit her lip. "You… don't blame me for what happened?"

Hawkeye rolled his eyes and cupped her face in his hand. "It was a fatal coincidence, Margaret. I know you wouldn't deliberately hurt Kim—and therefore, I don't blame you."

"I should have let you take her—"

''—and I probably should have forced it upon you. Whose fault is it now? No one's."

"You're too good to me," she said, and gasped, scared of her openness and easiness with which she confessed most private of her thoughts to him.

"Don't say that," Hawkeye smiled sadly, and was about to say something else, when the doors opened to reveal Colonel Potter, scratching his brow with a far more relaxed expression on his face than the one from mere minutes earlier.

"She's got a cold, and a bad colic, so I'd like her to stay here for the night," he explained, more to Hawkeye than to Margaret, which she noted instantly. "You can go and see her now."

Margaret made a move to rush into the building, but Hawkeye's hand placed firmly on her elbow stopped her dead in her tracks. "You're not going anywhere," he protested firmly, but without any hints of anger in his voice. "I want you to rest before you go and see her. And I will not take 'no' for an answer," he added, casually slipping one arm around her waist. "Come on, I'll walk you to your tent."

Eventually, Margaret agreed, too tired to argue with him, his logic unwavering. She let herself be led to her quarters, and tugged under the covers, savoring Hawkeye's touch through the thin fabric. He gave her a faint, fleeting smile—his mind undoubtedly on Kim—and turned to leave, but she grabbed his hand before he could go.

"What is it, Major?" he asked her softly, the title meaning nothing, just an expression on his lips. She swallowed hard.

"Would you kiss me?" she spat, her heart pounding franticly in her chest.

Hawkeye gave her a long, disbelieving look. "Margaret, I really don't think—"

"Kiss me," she interrupted, gently pulling on his hand. "You're my husband, right? Kiss me, Hawkeye."

He leaned down, his face close to hers, and dropped a kiss on her forehead. "I will not take advantage of you now. And I need to go and check on our daughter," he said, his voice somewhat stiff, wooden. Margaret tried to pull him closer, force some more intimacy onto him, but he was stronger, and she was exhausted—the outcome of their quasi-sparring was inevitably his being the victor, and leaving her tent in a quickened pace, which made her heart break just a bit more.

**TBC…**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Hello, everyone! I am SO sorry that it took me so long to write this chapter—I had about 95 percent of it after Christmas, and I"VE LOST MY MEMORY STICK with the only copy of it on January 5th! Then I had to overcome an awful depression after losing all my WIPs (I know, I know, I should make copies—and I will, I promise) before I finally got myself to write: but anyway, here it is, and I hope you find it amusing :)

It really hadn't dawned on me that it might be the last chapter until I wrote the last words, and decided that, well… it might have been a nice conclusion. Thank you all for devoting your time to this story, and I promise to bring you some more of H/M love in future :)

Reviews are love, as always.

0o0o0o0o0o

"Think positive," BJ said, leaning back in his summer chair. "Think optimistic. And for God's sake, stop sulking! It doesn't suit you."

"Yeah, well, what would _you_ do if you were me?" Hawkeye snapped back, pushing a straw-hat down on his eyes. He'd spent three nights nursing Kim, letting Margaret take the day shifts, and right after the child got better he had to perform thirteen straight hours of surgery. His morale was as low as it could be.

And there was the tiny-weenie small detail that turned his world upside down a couple of hours before, when he noticed it while helping Margaret out of her scrubs—she was wearing her wedding ring, openly. The sight made his jaw drop, and he briefly considered demanding some explanation from her, but his body was already winning over and urging him to sleep, for one thing.

So he didn't say anything. He simply wouldn't take the responsibility for whatever words he might have uttered—and just as well, too, for in the very next minute Kellye ran over to Margaret with some papers.

"Major Houlihan, would you please sign these?" she asked, panting, obviously already two hours late with something. Margaret took the pre-offered pen and scribbled something at the bottom of the first page.

"It's 'Pierce' now, Kellye," she said softly, turning the page, just as Hawkeye was about to close the scrub room doors behind him.

This put him off even more, and dragged away any chances for decent sleep, which was why he found himself in a summer chair next to BJ, sulking, instead of on his bunk, under a lousy blanket, regaining his physical and mental composure. His best friend, who wasn't present at the time of the said conversation, took a martini glass away from the Chief Surgeon, and proceeded with a pep-talk that didn't do him any good, so far.

It was strange. Troubling, even. Margaret didn't talk to Hawkeye during Kim's sickness, not unless you counted all the 'She's better today's, that they'd exchange over their evening coffee. She didn't ask Hawkeye to kiss her again. She never as much as _mentioned_ that particular request of hers.

And it troubled him, much as he didn't want to admit it, even to himself.

Which was precisely why BJ's suggestion to think optimistic and take it slow didn't amuse him in the least. Hawkeye was tired of taking things slow. What he needed—what _they_ needed—now, was a decent, sincere conversation. The one thing he was deadly scared to give Margaret. There were far too many dangerous 'what if's, starting from the 'What if she leaves me?', that he wasn't exactly ready to face.

BJ gave him a sidelong glance and smirked under his moustache. "Look, if it bothers you so much, and you don't want to ask her about it, why don't you just go and spend some more time with her? You do have a baby together, you know."

Hawkeye groaned and rubbed his eyes. "We don't _have_ a baby together, we're _raising_ a baby together, and that's one hell of a difference. Besides, you know the deal—Margaret wanted something out of it, but _I_ wasn't it."

The Californian briefly considered how long it would take _his_ brain to deteriorate that much from drinking home-made gin, and decided he still had some time left. Hawkeye, on the other hand, was a lost cause. "Hawk, can I ask you something?"

"Shoot."

"How long have you known Margaret?"

The Chief Surgeon blinked at him, smelling a rat in the air. "Almost two years," he volunteered hesitantly, casting a suspicious glance on his best friend.

"And how many times during these two years have you seen or heard her give out any personal information to people uninvolved?"

"Not too many, no."

"Alright then, let me give you another one: did Margaret ever let anything about her go public if she found it repulsive, wrong, or a reason to be ashamed?"

"No, never."

"Then why do you think she decided to wear your ring in the open?"

Hawkeye gaped at him with open mouth. "I—don't know."

"Did you occur to you that she might be fine with the idea of being your wife, and treat it as more than just a 'business agreement'?"

The black haired man shrugged. "Well, even if she is… what am I supposed to do about it?"

"_Spend some time with her, and Kim?_ Maybe she'll open to you some more? Come on, Hawk, she ain't going to bite you! It's Margaret, remember? She helped you out when you needed it the most. She's always been there for you and Kim when you needed her. Don't you think that counts for something?"

"Well…"

"Then go, ask her out for lunch, a drink or a walk, whatever you find suitable. Talk to her. I do remember you were quite good at talking to women."

"You won't let it go until I do, will you?"

"You know me. I'm all in for happy endings."

Hawkeye stood up and stretched, feeling dirty and heavy from lack of sleep. "There's nothing remotely resembling a happy ending about all this," he pointed out and yawned. "Gonna shower and sleep a bit. Potter said we should be expecting casualties later in the afternoon."

"Sure," BJ answered, returning Hawkeye's emptied martini glass to its owner. "Sleep tight."

"Yeah," the Chief Surgeon snorted, still unsure whether he'd be able to fall asleep. Shower was a necessity, though, and a shave, too.

The hot water helped him a little. Apparently a man wouldn't die from being dirty, but removing the layer of sweat, dirt and rough facial hairs could do wonders to a tired person. Wrapping a wet towel around his neck, Hawkeye exited the shower compartment and frowned at the bright, July sun.

"You look awful."

Raising his eyebrows, Hawkeye turned on his heel and faced his wife, wearing a sandy shirt tied up under her bust and carrying Kim on one arm and a picnic basket on the other.

"Gee, I thought my looks might have improved after being sprinkled with some water," he joked, trying to make his mind focus on what Margaret was saying to him—not the way soft tendrils of hair slipped out of her ponytail and touched her cheekbones. Or how lovely she looked with a child hoisted in the curve of her arm. Or how sweetly she smiled.

"You need to get some sleep. Any doctor would recommend it," Margaret said firmly, and rolled her eyes at Kim, desperately trying to reach her father with extended hands. Hawkeye smirked and took the baby from the blonde woman, holding her high in the air and pretending that she was an airplane. Kim shrieked with laughter, which made her father follow suit. Margaret sighed.

"Were you going to have a picnic?" Hawkeye asked, lowering the laughing child to his hip. "May I join you?"

"Only if you promise to get some sleep while we're there. A couple more hours, and you could actually _drop her_."

"Don't worry, mommy, I'll be careful," Hawkeye mocked her and gave her the child back, starting off towards the Swamp. "I'll meet you there in ten."

Margaret looked at his retreating back with a thoughtful expression on her face, before she shook her head in amazement and went her own way towards the sunny hill slope where she and Frank used to camp not so long ago.

"Your father in one extraordinary man," she told Kim on their way there, thinking about how different Hawkeye felt in comparison to Frank Burns. Well, she'd already known that even before Frank left, and even compared the two men on several occasions (the Christmas kiss having been the first one, admittedly), but never had those differences seemed more vivid than at the times when Hawkeye really acted as if they was a _family_—joking with Margaret, calling her sweet names or petting Kim while she was around. Some time during their marriage a certain bond was formed between them—one that Margaret had yet to experience in her life.

She felt needed, accepted, and respected. All this because of a half-crazy man, obsessive womanizer, who could just as easily make her rampant with rage… He _was_ different, no matter whether she compared him with Frank, Donald (now, _that_ never failed to amuse her) or any other man she'd known.

"Extraordinary," she repeated, kissing Kim's head as she kneeled in high grass and spread the blanket on the ground, carefully depositing baby in the very middle on it.

"She is, isn't she?"

Margaret jumped to her feet and gave Hawkeye a nasty glare. "Why do you always have to sneak upon me like that?!"

He smiled apologetically. "Sorry. Didn't know that overhearing you saying that Kim was extraordinary would make you angry."

Margaret blushed and bit her bottom lip. "I wasn't talking about Kim."

"Oh?" Hawkeye tilted his head playfully and gave his wife a knowing smile. "Was it about some guy I don't know yet?"

"There's only one man in my life now, as you surely know," she retorted, turning away from him and sitting next to Kim who instantly extended her arms to her in a plea for more cuddling. Hawkeye smiled: this child could actually be his daughter, judging from the way she clung to Margaret. She reached out and tugged on Margaret's hair, making her laugh and release the clasp holding it: golden locks fell down Margaret's shoulders, and Hawkeye found himself stuck in the moment.

"Are you going to sit down?" he winced and looked at Margaret, brought rapidly back from his daydreams. Nodding, he slipped off his shoes and sat crossed-legged on the other side of the blanket. Margaret, busy with taking Kim's long sleeved shirt off, gave him an absent-minded smile.

"Would you mind unpacking the basket?" she asked, combing the child's hair. Hawkeye did as requested, finding inside some sandwiches, a bottle of milk and two apples. It wasn't much—definitely not what he was hoping to have in a picnic basket on his first outdoor lunch with his family—but it was _theirs_, Margaret prepared it, and no cranberry-sauce-chicken-whatever could ever match it.

"Looks great," he offered with a smile. Margaret rolled her eyes.

"Let's just hope it's edible," she said, reaching out for the milk bottle at exactly the same moment when Hawkeye picked it up and offered to her with a helpful smile. Their fingers brushed gently, and Margaret blushed again.

"Thank you," she said and gave the bottle to Kim who began to coo happily. "She really could be your child," Margaret said, casting a sidelong glance at Hawkeye. "She definitely has your appetite."

"I've noticed. And it's not only for the food, you know."

This remark earned him an eye-roll and a snort, followed by a couple of quiet minutes. The sun shone on his face through the leaves, and suddenly Hawkeye felt pretty tired. Sighing, he lay down and wrapped an arm across his eyes, hoping to get some rest while Margaret was feeding Kim. He heard the small noises the child made as she drank, and he could swear Margaret started to hum her a lullaby—but he was fast asleep before he could identify the melody.

When he woke up, he found Kim sleeping soundly in the emptied basket, wrapped in another blanket. Margaret had lain down, too, quite close to him, on her side, with one arm crooked under her head and the other wrapped loosely around her middle. Hawkeye propped himself up on one elbow and smiled, watching the shadows cast on Margaret's cheeks by two sets of eyelashes. He took in her sleeping form (a sight he hadn't been familiar with): the soft, peach-like skin on her face and neck, hair wisps on her neck and nape, half-opened mouth, chest rising and falling with every breath…

"Would you stop ogling me?"

Hawkeye winced, not exactly fancying being caught red-handed. "I just thought you were…"

Margaret opened her eyes and gave him a long, considerate glance, completed with slowly licking her lips. "I was what?" she asked him playfully, half-sitting up and leaning gently into his private space.

Hawkeye wondered for the briefest moment if he might have still been dreaming, but dropped the thought when he looked Margaret in the eye. There was longing there, longing and tenderness he hadn't seen turned towards in for a long time.

Maybe BJ was right. Maybe there was a chance that—

"I was _what_, Hawkeye?" Margaret urged him and put one slender finger under his chin, forcing him to look back at her.

Hawkeye grinned suggestively and leaned in closer, almost brushing Margaret's lips with his own.

"Delicious," he whispered and heard her catch a breath and move closer, almost touching—

The low, growling sound of a chopper began behind them and rose, wild, dangerous, soon to be followed by another one—and another. Kim woke up and cried, scared of the loud rumbling that appeared out of nowhere. Both Margaret and Hawkeye jumped to their feet; he picked up the basket with the crying baby and started off towards the compound in quickened pace, she rolled the blanket in a haphazard pile and followed him, panting and flushed. Hawkeye turned to his wife and extended his hand, grinning like a madman when she took it.

"So much for romance in times of war," he joked, glad to see her eyes sparkle.

"Maybe we could do it again someday," Margaret suggested, avoiding his eyes. Hawkeye squeezed her fingers and, on an impulse, let go of her hand in favor of wrapping his freed arm around her waist.

"Whenever you want," he said solemnly.

"How about a dinner in my place tonight?" Margaret asked and smiled wickedly. "I'll make you something… delicious."

Hawkeye decided he couldn't smile any wider, unless the corners of his mouth met in the back of his neck. "With pleasure—providing we will still be alive by dinnertime."

"I won't take a rain check on this one," Margaret warned him, getting serious. He nodded and hugged her briefly, before walking into the compound and depositing Kim's basket in the waiting arms of Klinger.

"I wouldn't dare to give it to you," he whispered to Margaret's ear and shook his head in awe, taking in the long, promising glance she gave him before turning away and running for the triage.

Hawkeye followed her, noticed how her wedding ring glittered in the sun. That was strange: he was tired, sleepy, and about to face a long stretch of meatball surgery—and yet, everything seemed… fine.

"Finest kind," he murmured to himself, leaning over the first patient. "Ruptured spleen, I'll take him right away…"

**The End**


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